


Of Lobsters & Handcuffs

by I_AM_KING_DAD



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Handcuffs, M/M, One Shot, stanchez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_AM_KING_DAD/pseuds/I_AM_KING_DAD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley Pines, at it again in his schemes, attempts to swindle some Maine lobster fishermen.<br/>Rick Sanchez would prefer to do something a bit more exciting. Unfortunately, he's smashed.<br/>Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Lobsters & Handcuffs

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little vignette I posted on my tumblr after I asked my followers for some prompts.  
> A lovely lady sent the idea of Stan and Rick drunkenly/accidentally getting handcuffed to each other.  
> Enjoy!

Two men clung to each other, hobbling toward a shabby motel three blocks away from a dingy pub. The taller man tripped over his feet, being held up by the strong arms of the stouter man, “How much did you drink! We’re not even that,” he grunted, and lifted the more inebriated one over his shoulder. He flopped like a ragdoll, “Gonna be one of those nights isn’t it?” he grumbled, and searched in his pockets for the roomkey.

Stanley Pines, under the assumed name of Seamus McDaverly, kicked the now unlocked door with his foot. It swung open, banged against the wall, and he stepped in, carrying an sloshed Rick Sanchez. Both men were adorned in orange and blue jumpsuits typical of lobster fishermen in Maine, and patchy, clearly-fabricated beards and eyebrows. Stan dropped Rick on the bed, who was clutching a black bag in his hands. Hitting the bed seemed to jostle Rick into cognizance, and he sat up, taking money out of the bag to count, “Y-y’know I wouldn’t have had to anesthetize myself with booze if we weren’t in such a boring fucking place.”

“Look how much money we made! C’mon!” Stan pulled off his hat and threw it on the ground, “We’re making a killing here,” About two weeks ago he had the brilliant idea of selling cheaply made nets to the fishermen of the area when he was mistakenly sent cheap rope instead of replacement coils for vacuums that he ordered. Not wanting to waste more money, Stan saw this as a golden opportunity to swindle those ‘Canadian wannabes’ in Bangor. Rick only helped because he enjoyed playing the shill role in Stanley’s charade, and wanted to see what kind of ridiculous disguise he would give himself before he would be inevitably chased out of the state.

“Maine isn’t the, the bastion of civilization, pal,” Rick rolled his eyes, and flopped back down on the bed. He counted the money holding it up over his face, one eye narrowed in concentration.

Stan sneered and waved him off, “Whatever, Sanchez, guess you don’t like makin’ money. I’m takin’ a shower. Get all this glue off-”

“Leave it-urrrrp-leave it on.”

He stopped his trek to the bathroom to eye Rick. Although a shower would have been nice, whatever Rick may have planned seemed nicer. The alcohol spread to his cheeks and nose. He hiccuped, “Why should I?”  
Rick blinked impossibly slow, one pair of lids meeting a tad faster than the other. He reached out to Stan missing his side by a few inches, “C’mere, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, I got somethin’ for you.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Not quite sure whether or not he should trust Rick, Stan shuffled over to the bed, and stood before him. There was an awkward pause, and he then found himself jerked onto the bed, face up. His senses and reflexes were dulled by the alcohol, but strangely enough, Rick’s strength was formidable when intoxicated. Looming over Stan, poorly-adhered mustache askew, he beamed down at him. Spit formed in the corner of his mouth, “Surprise!” he laughed to himself, and leaned down to plant a wet kiss on Stan’s cheek. Grimacing, Stan wiped the side of his face.

“You’re such a charmer,” he looked at his spittle-covered hand and wiped it off on the bed.  
Pleased as punch that his affection had a negative effect on Stan, he rested himself on the other’s chest, “Y-you know it,” burying his head in the crook of Stan’s neck, he made a trial of sloppy kisses up to his ear, “Let’s have some fun, Seamus.”

“Easy, yeesh!” Stan jerked his head to the side when Rick nipped at his earlobe, “I’m drunk, I’m not dead.”

Amused by Stanley’s reaction, Rick pinned his arms to the side using his knees, and promptly bit down on the tender flesh again. While the other man was wrapped up in coming up with a decent swear, Rick pulled out a shiny pair of handcuffs. He considered dangling them in front of Stan’s eyes tantalizingly, but he preferred the art of surprise. Leaning, he freed a wrist only to incase it in a steel manacle, “Wuh-ohhhhh heeeey! Wh-what is this?” Rick looped his thumb around the unclasped cuff and dangled Stan’s arm loosely. His free hand gripped the side of his face which expressed feigned surprise.

Eyes widening at the event that unfolded, Stan struggled to sit up, “Oooh no! You read me my rights before you whip those babies out!” Although he liked where this was going, but he wasn’t willing to go down without a fight.

“Wh-what do you know about rights, Stanley, yeuuuughou exploited undocumented workers for profit,” Even drunk he could make a cohesive point. He felt himself being yanked, and ungracefully landed against Stan, “Don’t be like that - just - c’mere,” A struggle ensued. Shouting at each other what they felt would be reason, they tumbled onto the motel carpet. After a flurry of kicks, punches, and cursing, the lamp on the nightstand fell to the floor with a shatter. Rick, who definitely had the upper hand today had Stan’s head pinned between his thighs, squeezing tightly. Stan, struggling for breath attempted to deck Rick with his free hand. Rick was more focused on clasping Stan’s other wrist with a manacle, “Eeeeasy does it,” his eyes narrowed in concentration. Double vision had other plans, and Rick, in his haste to cuff Stanley completely, ended up clasping the manacle around his own wrist. He laughed to himself, shaking his head, “God dammit…”  
Stan did not initially realize what had happened, and looked at Rick admiring his handiwork in the shadows. He drove his fist into the carpet in anger, and sighed. 

Everything was just about to get infinitely more difficult. They were in full fishermen gear and an incredibly cheap disguise kit. Rick better have a key… The two of them lay on the floor for a moment, panting to catch their breath. Stan began to pull some of the fake facial hair off with his free hand. He stuck it on the side of  
Rick’s face, thumb pressing into his cheekbones roughly “Euuugh!” That got Rick’s attention, “Okay, fine. Take me to the bath,”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to,” Stan grunted and stood up, “to carry you, your highness?”

“Urrrrrrp-yes,” he flashed his sweetest, drool-covered smile.

Stan furrowed his brow, pursed his lips, and began to drag himself and Rick to the bathroom. Rick, not amused that he wouldn’t be carried like royalty, relaxed himself in order to make the deadweight more of a hassle on Stan, “Rick,” Stan began as he started water for a bath, “where did you put the key?” he tried to sound calm, but it ended up coming out sour.

Rick looked up, a grin on his face, “I ate it.”

Why was Stanley not surprised? So much for these great outfits. Undressing was a chore; some of the material had to be cut off with a knife. Oh well, it was inevitable before the two were chased out of Maine anyway. Once they had settled in the bath, Stan stared at Rick, who looked comical sitting in the bath with such long legs bent into his chest, “You know, a magician is never supposed to reveal his secrets,” yelling at a drunk man wasn’t going to get him his freedom back. He proceeded to yank the faux mustache off Rick’s face, who swore, “You deserved that,” he winked.

Rick, so wasted he couldn’t possibly be mad for a little bit of revenge, laughed it off and placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder, “See-see Pines? This is - this is how y-you…why you know I’m a professional-euuuugh-a magician-I mean I’m a magic-I mean, I’m not a professional magi…” he trailed off, chuckling, and leaning forward to rest his forehead on Stan’s chest. Stan let out a deep sigh, and kissed the top of his hair.


End file.
